Quiet Professionals
by TheSpazzo
Summary: Two elite operatives find themselves in the center of the next great war. Based on the MW2 Special Ops missions.


**Author: AConley**

**Author's Notes: Well hello, Call of Duty fanfiction readers. No, I am not TheSpazzo. He's postin' this, but I'm startin' it off. Like a lotta pieces of fiction (and even nonfiction), I'm afraid the very beginning's gonna be quite boring. But stick around, trust me. It gets better.**

**As a heads-up, this is the only chapter of the fic that isn't based on a Special Ops level. Spazz and I have the plot pretty much set, but ya never know, something might come up down the road. For now, though, this is the only time you'll read without ever seeing someone get shot.**

**TheSpazzo here – I've added a postscript for readers more interested in my Half-Life works.**

**Date: **_14 October, 2016_

**Time:** _12:32 PM Eastern Standard Time (1232 hours)_

**Location: **_The Situation Room, the White House, Washington D.C._

In the basement under the West Wing of the White House (where tourists are told the Presidential Bunker is located) is a room that is seen, in some shape or form, in almost any post-World War II film involving the United States, espionage, and/or imminent nuclear war: the Situation Room. Rather than the vast news studio that comes to the mind of any viewer of Wolf Blitzer, the real Situation Room is a long, rectangular, and some could say cramped conference room dominated by a long thin table that seats six people on each side and one at each end, though only one end is ever occupied. The walls that make the long sides of the room each contain two plasma screen monitors over lines of chairs for various aides to the people who matter, the people at the table. At the ends of these two long walls are doors, making four total entrances and exits into the room. One door is flanked by the American flag, all fifty starts representing the states and all thirteen stripes representing the original American colonies, on one side and a blue flag bearing the Presidential Seal on the other.

This door is on the right hand side of a wall covered in plasma screen monitors, each able to show whatever information is needed to keep the most powerful man in the free world as informed as possible to make the decisions he must make, decisions which could determine anything from the tax payments of his people to the lives and freedom of an entire nation. Currently, these screens show new reports of families mourning at candle-light vigils, memorials to American citizens slaughtered by a man who didn't care who was hurt or killed by his display of power and control in a city not even within American borders. These mourners were remembering the dead, people who'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. In Rio de Janeiro, a vicious arms dealer named Adriano Rodriguez had begun abducting people off the streets and murdering them to strike fear into the locals, to remind them who owned their lives and their freedom. He made the mistake of having a special taste for American tourists. Now the victims' families were calling for action and, in this matter at least, the President most definitely heard.

At the occupied end of the conference table, the President sat with his elbows on its surface, his fingers interlaced, and his chin resting on his knuckles. One side of the table was lined with the Secretaries of State, Defense, and Homeland Security to represent the Presidential Cabinet, as well as the Directors of the CIA, NSA, and NCIS. The Naval Criminal Investigative Service had investigated one of the tourists' murders when he was found to be an active Marine on liberty, and the investigation had contributed to fingering Rodriguez as the culprit. NCIS was there to see justice brought down.

The Joint Chiefs of Staff occupied the other side of the table. The Chairman, Vice Chairman, Chief of Staff of the Army, Chief of Naval Operations, Chief of Staff of the Air Force, and the Commandant of the Marine Corps wore their dress uniforms with the sort of perfection only years of service could produce. Standing at the end of the table opposite the President was a man in Army Combat Uniform fatigues, his black beret bearing an insignia of four silver stars. This man was General Leo Gerrard, an officer in the United States Special Operations Command (USSOCOM) who'd been appointed the commanding officer of a very important unit that was essential to the discussion now ongoing at the table.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is an opportunity that's practically been handed to us on a silver platter," General Gerrard said as pictures and information continued to appear on the screens behind him. "For months, Interpol has been looking for a valid reason to take down Adriano Rodriguez, but his brutal fear tactics have persuaded anyone capable of providing substantial evidence against him to cower and fear for their lives. But this time, he's overstepped his boundaries. Thanks to the determined efforts of both NCIS and the CIA, we are now confident we have located Rodriguez and are able to take him down. The people of the United States, and all free people, should not fear for their lives when they walk the streets, especially if it's the streets of their own homes like the people of Rio de Janeiro do. At this very moment my unit is poised to take down Rodriguez and bring him to the United States where he can face the justice he deserves."

"You'll have to forgive me for my spotty memory, General," the President said, his voice that of a man who is ready to do what is necessary. "But I need a refresher course of your unit and what it does. I haven't had need to deal with it since I was inaugurated." General Gerrard simply nodded a yes sir and pressed a button on the remote he held, showing images of men in combat gear both in training exercises and combat zones.

"Task Force 634 is a multi-branch task force of SOCOM organized with the mission to hunt down and apprehend or eliminate high-level terrorists who pose a threat to the people or the safety of the United States. They specialize and operate in small teams which number no more than four men. Green Berets, Navy SEALs, Pararescuemen, Delta Force, Marine Special Operators, DEVGRU, these men come from all branches of SOCOM and have proven themselves to be the best at what we need. You have my word, Mr. President, if anyone can get Rodriguez with as little fuss as possible, it's my men."

The President nodded in both understanding and thought. "Why haven't local law enforcement already apprehended him?" he asked.

"The people who make those decisions are in his pocket," the Director of the CIA answered. Beside him, the Director of NCIS was snapping his fingers at his aide, who handed him a set of documents. After scanning them to ensure they were the correct ones, he added his input.

"In addition to bribery, there're reports that he maintains control of the area through violence and intimidation. He provides the best arms at the best prices in the area, so he's the only guy all the local gangs buy from. He keeps his prices low and stock available in exchange for these gangs essentially serving as his thugs. They rough up whoever he tells them to, even random citizens when he thinks they need to be reminded who's really in charge."

"We also have rumors that he has explosives in the area," the Director of the CIA cut in. The way federal agencies vied for the credit and the spotlight was almost like children trying to be their parents' favorite. "They're unconfirmed, but the locals are convinced he really has it rigged to blow should he ever feel they're 'forgetting who they answer to.'"

"There are several, however, who're willing to risk his fury if it means getting rid of him," General Gerrard added. "In fact, save for a handful of the top level officials, the entire Rio police force is itchin' for a way to take him down. One of my teams was inserted into the area not too long ago and have been gathering intel, in addition to earning the police force's trust and allegiance. If my team receives the order, they're confident that they can work with the law enforcement and take him."

The President nodded, knowing how this sorta thing worked from his own days in Force Recon. He also knew that if he gave the word, the mission would be scrapped, all their work trashed, and they'd be pulled out. But he wouldn't give that order.

"There's just one thing I need to know, General," the President said. "If I were to give the go right this instant, and the mission was to go without a hitch, how long would it take for your team to apprehend Rodriguez?"

General Gerrard looked at his watch and was silent for a moment, no doubt considering the time difference between D.C. and Brazil in regards to the proposed plan he'd received from the team.

"No more than 53 minutes, sir."

**TheSpazzo here. It's been a **_**long**_** time since I updated any of my Half Life works, I know. About all I can say is be patient – with the end of AP testing and SATs (I still have my Subject Tests in June, but those are easy to study for) comes much more free time. That being said, I've started work on the second chapter of 17 Burning, and it's coming along quite nicely. It'll take a temporary backseat to the next chapter of this fic, but it'll come out soon enough. Try to keep in mind that reading these things is a lot easier than writing them.**


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